The autopilot leers at the holographic screen portraying the path of Wallace’s gang moving upwards. A blinking green dot leaving behind a trail of smaller similar dots. Closer to the Lido Deck. Closer to killing humanity…
“Not possible” the autopilot, Guerrero snarled. He impatiently tapped well-organized buttons on the control panel. All an orange-yellow color resembling an Epaulette. A call to the Steward units of the Axiom. As the buttons were simultaneously pressed, they glowed a bright blinding yellow.
The Stewards were either startled or confused about the familiar irritated voice of Guerrero calling out to them. Most were either arranging their items within their dens or straightening out their uniforms. Their puzzled heads turned to their intercoms vibrating weakly with the autopilot’s frustrated tone.
Shockingly, only a few of the units prepared themselves for the wave of ‘rogue humans’. Most of the Stewards either panicked with the uneasiness of the new possible movement or were having a rest on their poorly designed beds.
That was it for Guerrero. His jaw clenched in pure annoyance and let a small growl escape out of himself. He shoved his thumb on a small periwinkle button with a white thumbprint pattern. A non-touch screen button slowly rose from a hidden area on the control panel. An ugly dark purple item with a light gray shape of a wolf’s running silhouette. With no hesitation, he slammed his entire palm on the wolf button. It instantly broke into shards weakly cutting Guerrero’s flesh.
A small square hatch from chosen Steward dens opened. A transparent tiny syringe lowered towards the Stewards with a purple-periwinkle liquid inside. The Axiom units nervously yelped or flinched as the dark gray robot arm holding the syringe points the needle towards them. Some were either unconscious or unaware of the liquid-filled syringe close to them. The robot arm immediately plunges to the Stewards stabbing the needle in their open flesh. Whether it’s their neck, exposed shoulder, or the hand that they used to swat the syringe away. If the sudden stabbing if the 1.5 cm (0.6 in) thick needle didn’t hurt them, the harsh injection might. The robotic hand used its retractable thumb to insert the odd purple liquid into the Stewards’ blood. The sudden vaccination only made a minority of the Stewards agitated, for the first several seconds when the robot arm retreated back to the ceiling. Some winced in pain. Some let a high pitched sound out of their throat sounding like a trapped dog. Stewards covered their tiny dot wound with their hand. Others looked around their ceiling confused. The rest either went back to their business or didn’t react at all.
About half a minute afterward, all afflicted Stewards felt a brutal searing sensation in their bloodstreams. As if their vessels were set ablaze. Even with their strong pain-tolerance, they couldn't ignore the fiery burns in pulsating intervals with their heartbeats. Stewards unleashed an ear-splitting howl as the horrible stabbing pain transferred to their stomachs. For the first time in about 700 years, the Stewards felt starvation, real starvation. Their ribs would be easily shown through their torsos if it weren’t for their uniforms. Each Steward pants heavily with sore throats and fogged minds. The units either fell out of their campy beds or collapsed onto their knees, drooling heavily. The Stewards lost their balance and orientation, not knowing which way was up or down. They clutched heavily onto their stomachs, lolling out their tongues like dogs. Most of the Axiom’s guards retched loudly (sounding like juvenile burps). The remaining Stewards had their hands shot to their mouths as burning acidic vomit harshly eject from their irritated stomachs. Ugly revolting acid leaks through their fingers and slithers down their arms. The Stewards spew up their artificial synthesized foods that they’ve consumed for decades on end. The Steward’s stomachs continued to churn despite the vacancy.
It only took a few yet long agonizing minutes for the units to regain their sentience and deep self-discipline. The pain from their stomachs slowly ceased away, but their bottled-up rage flared up their blood. Their unrealistically long shifts. Little to no food given to them. Food always being manufactured with no nutritional value. The complete lack of care or praise was given to them no matter what good they did.
Their intercoms shook again barely holding in Guerrero’s infuriated commands. He bellowed at them to quit acting weak. To finally capture all ‘rouge humans.’ However, they couldn’t stand to hear his fury. His deafening words rattling the Stewards sensitive hearing. Their hands placed on the sides of their heads to block out the ringing noise.
“That’s enough!” the autopilot finally roared. His patience, now non-existent for the units he once trusted to do their directives without question. Them, acting hesitant of doing a task as simple as stopping a group of sheer misfits. “I am not going to repeat myself. Capture those annoying people before they destroy humanity. I don’t care if you were to slaughter them to death!” His rant finally discontinues by a dry husky cough, tiny sparse blood droplets staining his pure white pilot uniform. A mere smirk making its mark on his face as the Stewards finally assembled themselves. Ready to stop the nuisances, ready to kill!